The Only Thing Worse

I may or may not have issues, but there are certain types of men that I feel  the overwhelming need to just take down a peg or two.

A few years ago (actually DECADES – yikes, I’m old!) Mark and I played volleyball with Mr. Wee Man. He was a short little guy who thought he was ten feet tall and bullet proof. He thought he was god’s gift to the volleyball court. He was very condescending to the MEN on the team. I don’t even want to go into his attitude towards the women. He didn’t like a lot of people, and as far as I know, not a lot of people liked him. Why we put up with him on our team for as long as we did is beyond me! Clearly we’re saints!

So…we were playing in a volleyball tournament one Saturday and I was taking turns setting him and Mark. Even though I disliked him, I’m fair on the court and pass the ball around pretty equally to the hitters. It never failed, when he’d get the set he’d hit the ball into the net or all the way to the back wall. He very rarely put a ball in play. Yet I still gave him every opportunity. About halfway through the tournament we were in the middle of our second game of the match and Mr. Wee Man was in the back row. Every time I’d go to set the ball he’d be back there going, “Set me! Set me!” I hardly EVER set the back row. They can wait their turn to hit until they get in the front row. And I was certainly not going to set a shitty hitter when he was in the back row. The other team called a time out and while we were hanging out in our huddle Mr. Wee Man pulled Mark off to the side and said, “You need to get Cristy under control and tell her to set me!” Mark looked at him for a moment trying to determine whether or not he was serious. Then he burst out laughing and said, “You may not have noticed this but NOBODY controls Cristy!” Mr. Wee Man said that he could get me under control or he would leave. Mark said, “Do what you gotta do, Man.” (He actually said “Man”…didn’t even call him by his name.)

Mr. Wee Man walked away.

Did not return.

In the middle of a tournament.

I asked Mark where he was going. He shrugged and said he didn’t know. I asked if he’d be back. He shrugged and said he didn’t know. I asked him what was going on. He said, “He’s an asshole.”  So we finished out that tournament short a team member. Good riddance as far as I was concerned. After our match was over Mark told me about the conversation they’d had. Nice.

Now, I tell you that story to tell you this one:

Last night I subbed on Mark’s volleyball team. There were a lot of conflicts for last night’s game so four out of the six players were subs. I was one of them. And Mr. Big Man was the other. Mr. Big Man was about 6’7” and FULL. OF. HIMSELF! Referred to himself in the third person. Wore tennis shoes, black mid-calf socks, what looked like swim trunks, and a polo shirt! Seriously! A fucking POLO SHIRT! Collar, buttons, and everything!

As we warmed up I tried to not be too distracted by his outfit. It reminded me of the guy from sand volleyball years ago who showed up in jeans, a button up shirt, and pocket protector. But that’s a story for a different day. Game time came, and holy fuck, Mr. Big Man could hit! HIT! HARD!! And straight down! I was glad to be on the same side of the net because I would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of his spikes.

It took me a full two seconds into our game to decide that I didn’t like him! He was very condescending to the MEN on the team. I don’t even want to go into his attitude towards the women. Sound familiar? It should, because it’s a copy/paste from above!

He started off by saying, “Mr. Big Man likes his sets right here.” And then he put both hands up to show the lowly setters what they needed to be doing for him. The main setter that we had was OMG-AMAZING! She could put the ball anywhere. One play, the ball was pushed short over the net straight to Mr. Big Man. He passed the ball to the setter, low to her chest. She dropped to her knees and set the ball behind her to the weak-side hitter because all their blockers had scooted over to try and block Mr. Big Man. It was a PERFECT set. We scored the point. He looked at her and said, “Mr. Big Man passed that low so that you wouldn’t have a choice but to set it back to me.” She just looked at him and didn’t say a word. I said, “Beautiful set!!” Then I got glared at (not by the setter).

When I was setting, no matter where he was on the court I could hear him “Back here! Over here. Right here! Mr. Big Man needs the ball!” Well, fuck you, Mr. Big Man. Fuck you right in the ass. The thing about being the setter is that you have control over who gets to touch the ball. And if you’re an asshole, I don’t care how good you are, I ain’t giving you shit! (I might have an attitude problem.)

I missed a serve last night. I rarely, if ever, miss serves. But I missed one last night. And Mr. Big Man goes, “That’s OK. We wanted to play offense only anyway!” Asshole!

In back to back plays I blocked the guys on the other side. After the second block (you know…little girl blocking the big man on the other side of the net), he looked at me and goes, “Nice play.” In a voice that indicated utter shock and surprise. Asshole!

About halfway through the second game of the match I looked at Mark and said, “Hey. You wanna tell him about Mr. Wee Man?” Mark burst out laughing and said that he’d pass on that.

So now I’m torn. I can’t decide what’s worse. Wee Man Syndrome or Oversized Arrogant Bigman Syndrome. ‘Tis a conundrum.

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